Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
My blood goes hot and my shoulders tighten. I was in the dining room when I should’ve stayed in the fucking kitchen, apparently. The idea of that asshole feeding her instead of me sends a sharp jab of annoyance up my spine. “You’re not going to eat?”
She bites her lip, stepping closer to the kitchen. “Sorry. He really stuffed me,” she puts her hand on her stomach, and I can’t help myself from intentionally mis-reading her words.
I picture her on her back and Zander above her, “stuffing” her.
I slam the wooden spoon down with a pathetic little “click” on the counter. “I’m going to fire him.”
“What?” she asks, laughing in disbelief. “For what? Feeding his employees?”
“For obviously being attracted to you and acting like a goddamn creep all shift. He’s clearly not focused on the job. All he thinks about is getting into your pants.”
“Yeah?” she asks, folding her arms. “Then maybe you should fire yourself, too.”
“What?” I ask, turning to face her fully. I know my sauce is overcooking but I hardly care right now.
She meets my eyes, a mixture of defiance and fear there. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll apologize.”
I clench my jaw. I want to say the words, just to piss her off. I turn away, planting my hands on either side of the stovetop and leaning forward. The rising, aromatic steam heats my face until it hurts. I take a spoon of sauce suddenly, then carve out a piece of perfectly flaky salmon. I sprinkle the crunchy garlic on the spoon, dust it with parsley, and lift the perfect bite toward her. “Try this. I made it for you.”
Her eyebrows draw together like she wants to keep fighting, but I can tell the chef in her is also curious to taste what she’s smelling. “What is that sprinkled on top? Garlic?”
I nod. “Try it.”
She reaches for the spoon, but I shake my head. “You let Zander stuff you. Now it’s my turn.”
Her cheeks flush red. My stupid words come out sounding dirtier and weirder than they have any right to. But she obediently parts her full lips for me and waits, eyes on mine instead of the spoon I’m lifting toward her mouth.
I ease it between her lips and slightly tilt, watching as her lips wrap around the metal. I feel the pull and friction of her sucking the food off the utensil and my cock starts to swell. I lift my spare hand below her chin to catch a shred of salmon that falls in my palm.
She leans forward, laughing around her full mouth and still locking eyes with me.
I watch her chew and savor the sound of her moaning with delight at the taste as I pop the spare bit of salmon in my mouth.
I lean closer as she’s finishing her mouthful. “I can keep stuffing you, if you like, Calloway.”
“Maybe one or two more bites. But I can feed myself,” she says. I can tell from the way she can’t quite hold my gaze that I’m not the only one oddly turned on by this. She’s trying to play it cool, though. “That really is amazing. Are you going to put it on the menu at Taste?”
“Maybe. But you only get more if you let me feed it to you.”
Her eyes fall and she slowly shakes her head. “I don’t want either of us to get the wrong idea.”
“What idea would that be, Calloway?” My voice is low and full of hunger. I want to hear her say it out loud–to speak it into reality.
She swallows visibly. “I can’t be what you want. I don’t know if you still want the same thing, or something new. But I can’t be either of those things. There’s… there’s a reason it didn’t work between us.”
Her words cut through the thick arousal pulsing under my skin like ice. I feel it spreading coldness through me. “It didn’t work because you ended it,” I say.
Mia’s eyes go hard. “I ended it because it wasn’t going to work. Not the way you wanted. But I’m tired, Nolan. I’m going to go get ready for bed. Thank you for the bite. It was really good.”
Her appreciation dulls my need to keep fighting. I clench and unclench my fists, then nod.
She leaves me in the kitchen with a bunch of delicious food I have no plans to eat. I have no appetite anymore. Not that kind of appetite, anyway.
I turn off the burners and dig around for containers to store the food in. I clean up my mess while I run through the way our interaction just went.
What do I really want from her? Just sex? Payback because she was the one who left me? Or something I’m not ready to admit I’m looking for?
The same questions keep ringing in my head until it’s fucking maddening. I decide to go out. It’s late as hell, but I’m sure some of the guys are at the bars, so I pull out my phone and shoot off a few texts while I linger in the kitchen.